Page 29 of Rayne

They have money, and each other—alibis that would easily free them of any consequence. And the best part? They would be rid of me. It's obviously what they have always wanted. Have they just been waiting for the right time?

"Put… put the gun down," I stutter, frozen in place.

Hawk twirls the gun, taking a step toward me. "Are you scared now?" he asks.

I nod, but I'm not sure they can see it through the dark. I'm too terrified to speak, and when they approach, side by side, I don't move an inch.

The cold metal of the gun presses against my neck, tipping my head up to look at Hawk. Through the mask, I try to focus on his eyes, the familiar blue as I fight the urge to break down.

With his other hand, he lifts the mask up with his pinky finger, carefully holding the lighter to keep the flame going, revealing his face. It still doesn't put me at ease, the barrel of the gun pressing into my jugular.

"Why are you doing this?" I whisper, not daring to break eye contact.

Hawk raises an eyebrow, a slight look of confusion on his face. "What are we doing, Tempest?" he questions quietly.

My gaze flickers down to the gun, before darting straight back up. "Are you going to kill me?" I ask, voice shaking.

"Oh, definitely," he answers confidently.

A sniffle breaks loose as tears finally slide down my cheeks. This is it—the end.

Even with my life flashing before my eyes, I can only think of my parents. Enjoying Florida, they have no idea of the horrors that await them when they get home. Will I still be here when they arrive, cold and lifeless on the hallway floor? Or will a neighbor hear the gunshot and call the police? If so, maybe there's a slight chance I'll be saved in time…

But… Do I want to be saved?

I don't want to die. But I also don't want to live after something like this. How would I be able to live my life in constant fear? I'd never be able to set foot in this house again without the memories. I'd be forever looking over my shoulder, wondering if they are coming to finish me off.

Would they hurt our parents? I used to believe no. But now… now, I just don't know anymore.

"Why?" I ask weakly. "Do you really hate me that much?"

Jett looks at Hawk, his mask still on. I wish I knew what was going through their minds. Maybe I could negotiate with them, give them what they want. But what is it that they want? Is this some type of sick revenge or are they just really hateful of my existence?

"Yes," Hawk answers, not breaking our gazes. "And you hate us, right?"

It feels like a trick question. How do I even answer that?

My mind goes around in circles, desperately trying to find the right answer if one exists.

"Hate is a strong word," I finally answer carefully. "I hate the way you treat me. But I love that my parents are happy."

I throw the parent card into the mix, hoping to tug on their black heart strings. Neither react and my heart sinks again.

Maybe I was right all along. They just used our family until they were free—a ticketed ride out of the foster care system and when they got their fortune, they were released from the chains.

It doesn't escape me that these men got everything they ever wanted. Sure, they had a shit upbringing and horrible parents. I wouldn't wish that upon anyone. But despite it all, they still hurt me, and then were rewarded with money and opportunities that most people never get to receive. They were given a second chance at life and this is how they used it.

Hawk thrusts the gun into my skin harder, making me stumble back. I refuse to run and be hunted down, but I also refuse to drop to the ground in a pathetic crying heap.

"Are you going to beg for us yet?" Hawk murmurs.

I feel sick, but I shake my head. "No."

"Why not?" he asks, tone slightly surprised.

"Because it won't do me any good," I answer truthfully. "Whatever you are going to do, you're going to do it anyway."

Finally, he breaks our stare, turning to Jett. Slowly, his lips upturn into a smile. "You owe me fifty dollars."

---